


The Ocean Weathers the Sharp Edges and Turns Me to Glass

by chaos_is_welcome



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Forgiveness, Gen, Lucifer Bingo 2019 (Lucifer TV), in which lucifer works through his issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-16 03:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20180545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_is_welcome/pseuds/chaos_is_welcome
Summary: My first attempt at Lucifer Bingo for the prompt: Epiphany.I give you Lucifer sorting through his family shit, prompted by watching much better examples of parenting than his own upbringing.





	The Ocean Weathers the Sharp Edges and Turns Me to Glass

The understanding comes to him slowly, like the weathering of a sharp glass shard left in the continuous ebb and flow of the sea, worn to smooth sea glass by countless slow rolls against the sand. Lucifer finally understands that he may be his own master, able to demonstrate his own free will and desires, but his parents were the first who had the opportunity to shape what he was. He spent eons struggling with all that was flawed in him, the evil that his Father seemed to think was inherent—so much so that he had his human historians document that evil in all the religious texts. The Rebellion, The Fall—he’d written them off as signs of his flaws, signs of his inability to be what he should. So of course he had to embrace the rebel and discard all that was his Father, because what else could he do? It’s who he was. _They _had been telling him so since the dawn of time. 

The realization is a slow and tedious process. He’s a sharp, jagged piece of glass the first time he watches the Detective stoop down to her impish spawn and praise her for standing up to the despicable larger child who had made fun of her, despite the fact that the school had chosen to summon the Detective to deal with her offspring. Chloe Decker is a woman ruled by procedure and by the book, and even his Father’s Word says to turn the other cheek, but she praises her daughter for standing up for herself (for what is right). His jagged shape is turned in the waves of the sea every time the Detective pulls her daughter to a hug and says, “You know what? You’re right, monkey.” She consistently and reliably buoys the little urchin up, admits that she—the parent—is fallible, and most importantly that the loves her unconditionally.

Lucifer’s sharp edges are worn smooth every time those soulful brown eyes and gap-tooth grin are aimed in his direction. There is always kindness there, and wit, and compassion. Often the child sees things that most adults do not, and she accepts him immediately for who he is, without question or condition. It takes Lucifer far longer than it should to connect the care and love that the Detective gives to the unique, untarnished child that Beatrice is.

It’s not until he returns from Hell, as he watches the Detective tuck in a much longer, much changed offspring, with a gentle kiss to her cheek, that Lucifer really _sees _it—Beatrice is her own person, but she was first and foremost shaped by her mother’s love. His time in Hell has made so many things diaphanous, including how he sees himself. He now knows that he is not evil, beyond a shadow of doubt, for he left the thing he wanted most for the good of others. He knows that while he may not yet feel entirely deserving of the Detective’s love, he has it. He is hers and she is his. He thinks of the Rebellion, and the Fall, and his parents, and he sees things with new eyes. His Father, so focused on creations and The Plan, that he never took time for them, to praise, to listen, to shape. His Mother, so focused on her own machinations that she only ever goaded, manipulated, or whispered seeds of doubt. The dichotomy between his own upbringing and Beatrice’s burns hot in his chest as he watches them, but it has overtones of an unexpected levity. _It wasn’t his fault_. So much of the struggle that he endured could have been changed if his parents had loved him well, instead of treating him as a tool for their goals. The Detective’s only desire for Beatrice was her happiness. He had no doubt that she would leave her mark on the Earthly plane, as her mother had, because of that love. Unconditional love and _communication_ are the processes that weather a well-adjusted, kind human being, just as the action of the sea weathers jagged edges into sea glass. Would the same also not be true for celestials?

He watches Amenadiel and Linda chase Charlie on the playground the next day, as they meet at the park for a picnic. Beatrice chases after the toddling mite, scoops him up as he falls and carries him to Linda. She brushes off his knees and kisses the crown of his head before setting him back on his feet to send him off again. Parents pick their children up when they fall, speak their truth to them and set them back on the right path. Amenadiel chases after Charlie, tickles him, and then runs comically away at a snail’s pace, allowing Charlie to catch him.

He thinks of the Detective, years ago interrogating the spawn after she’d defaced a doll. He had indulged the child’s whims, but he understands now. Parenting is allowing mistakes, and calling your child on them without judging them too harshly. Mistakes come with lessons. It’s a balance of punishment and grace. For all the mentions of grace in the Earthly tomes, it was something Father did not give to his celestial children—instead, he deemed only to provide punishment.

The Detective slides up next to him as he stands under a tree, watching the people he has come to think of as family. She slips her arm around him and presses a kiss to his neck as she whispers, “I’d love to know what on Earth has that look on your face.”

He scoffs, wrapping his arm around her. “A little to do with Earth and Heaven, actually. Nothing big, just rethinking my entire outlook on life.”

She furrows her brows, looking concerned. “Explain, please.”

He exhales, tilting his head in the direction of Charlie and Beatrice. “What do you see?” He asks.

Even though he’s been home for months, her uninhibited grin still takes his breath away. She lights up as she watches them. “I see Amenadiel making a fool of himself to make Charlie laugh. I see how much fun Trixie has with him—he’s family to her, and it’s wonderful.” She tightens her arms around him, and her voice grows far more serious. “I see how happy Linda and Amenadiel are, and what a gift you gave them by going so that they wouldn’t have to fear a demon horde.” She raises her face to look at him, eyes searching his face. “Why, what do you see?”

He turns, leaning against the tree. He widens his stance so that he can pull her between his legs, spinning her as he does so her back is to his front. He adores the casual, easy relationship they have with touching each other now. It is more than he ever dreamed of in the centuries he spent yearning for her in Hell. He wraps his arms around her, resting his cheek against the crown of her head as he watches them. Linda lifts Charlie into a swing and pushes him. Beatrice stands at the other side, tickling his toes every time he reaches her. 

“I see your daughter, who has known since she was born—probably before—that you love her and will be there for her no matter what. She sees people for what they are, just as you do, because when she speaks to you, you really listen, and she does the same. I see my brother, who used to ignore humanity, being a much better father than ours ever was to any of us.” He tightens his hold on her. “I see two children who know love, and are stronger for it. I see people who are able to simply talk to one another and are stronger for it.”

“Lucifer . . .” She says, trying to turn in his arms, worry in her voice.

“Shh,” he scolds, smiling, “I'm not yet done, and I think you’ll really like this last bit.” He closes his eyes and feels the diffused light of the sun, listens to the leaves of the tree he’s leaning against, feel’s the Detective’s softness in his arms and smells her shampoo as he nuzzles her hair again. “Remember, before I left, when I said I wanted to forgive myself, but I wasn’t sure how?”

He feels her sharp intake of breath, remembering. “I’ve come to an epiphany,” he says slowly. “Beatrice and Charlie, they are who they are because of you, and Daniel too I suppose, because of Linda and Amenadiel and really even Maze. Love and communication makes them strong and sure. I was never sure of who I was, not for a long time. And I’ve come to realize the reason for that has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with my Dad and Mum. They were so focused on The Plan, and what they wanted, that they never really bothered with the love or the communication. The love was never unconditional, and the communication, at least from my Dad, was basically non-existant. And mum, well she was never afraid to use us to get what she wanted.”

“Not your fault,” she says, trying to turn again, and this time he lets her. She cups her hands around his face, and she’s smiling that smile again, the one that takes his breath away. 

"Not my fault," he agrees. He tilts his forehead to meet hers. “My parents gave me the sharp edges, but I think they may finally, _finally _be smoothed away.”

She kisses him, then, and he feels lighter than he has in a long time. He loves her, and she loves him. It has always been as inevitable as the waves returning to the sea.


End file.
